A Beginning
by Limegreen16
Summary: She is so utterly gorgeous with the lights echoing off her, the flush from the alcohol and dancing on her cheeks, that your chest tightens with the longing to kiss her. You don't. But you wish you could, wish you could kiss her or read her mind." Barney and Robin spend some time together and things come into light.


You organize a night out hopping from one bar or club to another and propose it to the gang, and as expected, worry and hesitation flicker through their expressions. And yet you are sure they will all feign excitement for you, which they do, and you try to ignore that you are the only one who is alone.

Friday night it is!

The first stop is at MacLaren's, of course. It's the only one Marshall and Lily make it to, before excusing themselves to go and catch some much-needed sleep. They take two cabs to the Lusty Leopard and then a new club downtown, after which Ted and Victoria, yawning and bleary-eyed, head home. You watch them with quiet envy walking away with arms tight around each other fighting the cold.

Where to next? Nick asks. It is just a bit past midnight, but he has work in the morning.

You grin. You'll see.

At the next place, you succumb to drinking whiskey and it makes you characteristically sentimental and sad, and you think about your failed engagement with Quinn. The two of you were never really right for each other, that much is clear to you. It explains the knot of dread that sunk into your stomach as soon as you told everyone about proposing, the months you spent almost anticipating the demise of your relationship, your own feelings for Robin which didn't go away as you thought would naturally.

One more for the road, you tell the bartender, and you glance at Robin and Nick sitting closely together, their open affection on display. Nick's demonstrativeness is beginning to irk you and you clear your throat and stand, announcing that it's time to move on to a different venue.

Outside, the wind burns against your numb cheeks. You shove your hands in your pockets, the alcohol warmly swirling inside of you.

How many more places are there? Nick is calling out from behind, and so you stop and wait for them to catch up.

One. The next one's a party a friend of mine's throwing—it's going to be legendary!

Maybe we should call it a night. I have work tomorrow at eight tomorrow. He looks at Robin, as if expecting her to take his side. You suddenly feel terse about this assumption, which he has every right to make.

To your surprise, Robin pretends not to notice. You go ahead, I'll stay, she tells Nick.

Are you sure?

You excuse yourself on the pretense of withdrawing some cash to give them a moment and as you do you hear whispers of "lonely" and "keep him company", and finally "I hope you understand". It sickens you to be spoken of that way. You're fine, you want to shout back, but you take your unnecessary hundred dollar bill and return calmly, after which Nick bids you goodnight and kisses Robin.

Where's this party? she asks gamely. Just like that you forgive her for her pity (you forgive her for everything) and lead her to a club a few blocks away.

This is crazy! you yell into her ear, as the two of you squeeze among the crowd, the loudness of the music penetrating your skin, your head, strippers on poles around the room and drinks everywhere. The two of you head for the bar and race to finish shots (you tie, of course), ordering beer for chasers. Somehow you end up behind the bar, and even with your motor skills slightly questionable, you show off some bottle tricks, flipping glasses and tumblers easily, juggling them all above your head, until a crowd of women appear right in front of you ready to gasp at your every trick. Robin watches with a knowing smile.

Bartender! I need a drink! she calls out.

You grin widely and attempt your most elaborate spins and tosses, your hands nimble and taking a life of their own; the girls swoon and you hand a martini to her with a flourish. Then you hop over the bar next to her to cheers. Making it clear you have eyes only for one. The girls scatter on. When she finishes her drink, you coax her to the dance floor with your hand tightly around hers, not wanting to lose her to everyone else.

You start of as separate entities moving closely together, but then the energy of the club takes over, the volume of it pushing out any possible awkwardness or hesitation, and she has her hands around your neck and yours are around her lithe waist. She is so utterly gorgeous with the lights echoing off her, the flush from the alcohol and dancing on her cheeks, that your chest tightens with the longing to kiss her. You don't. But you wish you could, wish you could kiss her or read her mind.

At four in the morning, the two of you stagger out laughing madly about nothing. The music is still in your head pushing you on. Somehow you end up in Central Park, walking in circles until you find a bench somewhere far from the main roads. The cigar in your pocket has miraculously survived the night so you take it out, lighting it carefully, and inhale deeply. You pass it on to Robin, who in turn shares her flask of scotch. You haven't had an all-nighter in a while, neither has she, but it's strangely nice, you think.

The cold air is starting to sober you up a little.

You know, if you'd been pregnant last November, our baby would be about three months old now, you let slip. Almost as old as Marvin.

She exhales smoke upwards, saying nothing.

Sometimes I feel like I made all of it up. We never talk about it. Nobody else knows. It's like none of it was real, you say.

She passes the cigar back to you, looking contemplative. It was real, Barney. We slept together and I never told you how sorry I was—still am—for choosing Kevin. And when I thought I might be pregnant, that was real too. I've tried to pretend it never happened. But I can't.

I just want to know why him. Did I say or not say something?

I think…at the time I thought I was doing the right thing.

And was it the right thing?

No. I couldn't have been more wrong.

So why'd you agree to marry him?

She looks surprised. You knew?

Lily let it slip, you admit. She looks sheepish.

I was sticking it out, trying to prove I didn't make a mistake picking Kevin, she says slowly. Because a part of me always knew I should have chosen you.

You smile at this admission, though in the bigger picture, you know it changes nothing.

I brought candles and rose petals to your room that night, you say, shaking your head with a chuckle.

No way.

I did! Ted saw me.

I'm really sorry, Barney. Truly.

Me too.

For what?

I should have fought a bit harder for you.

She eyes him curiously. Are you drunk?

Do you want me to be?

As long as we're doing this, there's something else you need to know. She tells him about her infertility in halting, unpracticed sentences, and that he is the last to know because she'd been afraid to know what he would think. You want to tell her nothing could ever really change how you see her; she could be ten pounds heavier and you'd still be pining over her secretly, or not so secretly.

We'll be the cool aunt and uncle, you assure her. We'll let Ted, Marshall and Lily have all the kids, change their diapers and scold them. All the fun stuff will be ours. Only you and me can teach them to be awesome.

She smiles. You put your arm around her and she burrows into you seeking some warmth you know she doesn't need, impervious as she is to the cold, and you put your mouth against her hair.

Nick has chicken legs, you say, and you both laugh.

He's not so bad. Really good to me.

Mhmm. You throw the cigar down and crush it with your foot. He's boring.

You haven't gotten to know him, that's all.

He bores you.

I wouldn't say that.

Robin. You watch yourself on television to turn yourself on.

Barney. Be nice.

Fine.

She shifts beside him and produces a key, which you recognize as the one you gave her a few months ago. You've never talked about that either. More than a key to a storage locker, it was a key to understand how you felt, or still feel, about her—if it meant any less to her she would've mentioned it in passing.

At this moment, it dawns to you that while she has never been good at saying how she feels (and neither are you, but she's the better stoic), she doesn't need to. Tonight has given you more insight into her feelings than the past year.

Slipping the key into your suit pocket, she tells you she is starving, and so the two of you stand and walk in search of a diner, some greasy potatoes and bacon and eggs, pancakes with maple syrup, coffee, orange juice. Your hands swing between each other, waiting to touch.

All you have to do is wait.

**Please review! :) Haven't written in so long. **


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